


trade my soul for a wish

by mutterandmumble



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crush at First Sight, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, endless dramatics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutterandmumble/pseuds/mutterandmumble
Summary: So there they are, not quite shoulder to shoulder but close nonetheless, and then Atsumu makes the mistake of looking right into hot guy’s honey-brown eyes and suddenly the panic opera makes its illustrious (and greatly anticipated) return, and it’s all angelic choruses backed by squeaking cart wheels and fluorescent lighting breaking through the clouds of dust that hang over the aisles like an omen- whichhasto be some sort of health code violation- and right then and there Atsumu forms an immediate and ill-advised crush.Or: In which Atsumu runs out of muffins, runs to the supermarket, and (unfortunately) runs his mouth
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 23
Kudos: 114





	trade my soul for a wish

**Author's Note:**

> Title from call me maybe by carly rae jepson which I am much more excited about than I probably should be
> 
> Atsumu is so much fun to write. This is super messy from a writing perspective- a huge chunk of it was written past midnight, all at once, and with very little regards to things like coherency or pacing, and another chunk in one of my favorite writing environments, which is switching rapidly back and forth between the fic and something else that I’m working on- but it was so, so enjoyable. Whenever I like character I’ve immediately got to bully them into finding love of some sort, and so that’s what’s happening here. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

Atsumu’s Saturday starts like this: he’s dead to the world, asleep in his bed and having a very pleasant dream wherein he’s been named the Official Ambassador of All Volleyball Everywhere when he rolls a little too far to the left and promptly plummets straight to the floor. 

It’s not the best way to wake up. There’s a lot of flailing, a high-pitched yelp (which he will also deny until his dying day), the tangle of the many, many blankets that he sleeps with around his limbs until he’s stuck in some sort of hellish fleece cocoon; there’s the sun, visible through his window and still half stuck to the horizon, and it’s absolutely laughing at him because it’s the  _ weekend  _ and he should’ve been allowed to sleep in and continue his fantastic dream but instead he’s sprawled out on the floor, chest heaving and mind moving a mile a minute as he tries to remember  _ how  _ exactly all of the separate parts of himself relate to each other. The ceiling is impassive from where it looks down from above, flecked with water damage and years upon years of disrepair and Atsumu just lies there for a moment, half-asleep as the real world begins to encroach on him once again. 

He sits up with a groan and runs a hand along the side of his head. There’s a nasty little lump right above his ear and he’s got some truly horrendous bedhead, but from what he can figure he’s going to survive. There  _ is  _ a bruise on his left shin and there  _ is  _ a bruise on his ego, but he’s alive and he’s awake enough to know that he won’t be able to get back to sleep (which is the real tragedy here), so he hauls himself up to his feet and sets about peeling the blankets off until he’s back in nothing but his limited-edition fox print boxers and the shredded remnants of his pride. 

He’s not quite sure what to do next, as he stands there shivering and just sort of staring at the wall in blurry disbelief. There’s no one here to laugh at his blunder and there’s no one that he’s willing to  _ tell,  _ but just lying back down doesn’t feel right- the world tried so hard to get him out of bed at a reasonable time, and Atsumu can appreciate the effort if nothing else- so he figures that okay, alright, he’ll recuperate by grabbing himself some food because that strategy has yet to fail him, and what can he say? He knows what he wants.

So he wobbles over to the kitchen, carefully because early-morning Atsumu has the coordination of a toddler who just got off a carousel and early-morning Atsumu who just smacked his head against the ground may as well be made of brick or stone or clay, and then shuffles straight to the pantry. He swipes out a hand and flings it open with all the drama that such a thing deserves, and then he peruses the sad, sad selection of food for something edible. Misery loves company after all, but since it’s 6:42 in the morning and Osamu refuses to pick his phone up until at  _ least  _ 9:00 (fucking figures), he’ll have to settle for a mediocre muffin and however many hours of Say Yes to the Dress reruns that it takes for him to start feeling like a human being again. 

So he stands there, pride (and left shin and spot above his ear and right elbow and-) still smarting, and looks in the pantry for the muffins that he  _ knows _ must be there because he’s like seventy-five percent sure that he got some the other day. Sixty percent. Fifty-five. Regardless, he looks for them again. And then again. When they fail to conjure themselves up out of nothing he stands there for a minute more, staring into the pantry and hoping to every god there is that this is just some unfortunate trick of the light and his pack of muffins is just tucked into a shadow, right there within reach and ready to make his day better, but he keeps on looking and looking and looking and he finds nothing.  _ Nothing.  _ Not a crumb, not a wrapper, not even an empty plastic container that he could hold up to the light during his dramatic monologue about the inherent cruelties of a muffin-less existence.There’s nothing there; life is a nightmare, and there is  _ nothing _ . 

The first thing that he does is panic. An  _ impressive  _ panic too, complete and visceral and very, very real; an  _ operatic _ panic, one that’s got soaring internal screams and a rapid fire plotline and costume design that will surely be praised by critics everywhere once he gets himself out of this situation with all of the grace and dignity that he as a human being embodies. 

The second thing that he does is make a plan. Atsumu is a grown man, one who is capable of running errands and falling twice in less than two minutes and all sorts of other things that he can’t think of right now but they’ll come to him later he’s sure, but the point is that he is  _ responsible.  _ He can do things. He can  _ definitely  _ complete a simple task like running down to the grocery store to get himself a pack of muffins. That is something that he is perfectly able to do, because Atsumu is, after all, known for being an extremely rational and down to earth person. 

There is just one (extremely rational and down to earth) problem. If Atsumu wants to get muffins at this hour then Atsumu has to go to the supermarket, and the only nearby supermarket- well, it’s the Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away. Now, Atsumu is a reasonable human being with reasonable human needs, so he never goes to the Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away if he can help it; there’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with it, not really, but every good story needs a villain and god knows that Atsumu loves a good story so he’s been cultivating a very specific, very vitriolic and only a slightly contrived relationship with this particular supermarket throughout his whole entire life. This is a rivalry twenty years in the making, and it’s a glorious mess of a thing that’s survived several almost-moves, the three weeks last month that he survived off of nothing but takeout, leftovers, and a lasagna that his neighbor made him, and that fling he’d had two years ago with the convenience store that was much closer to his high school because again Atsumu is only human and sometimes he just wanted a  _ pretzel,  _ dammit. 

Now the Supermarket That’s  _ Three  _ Streets Away, that’s a different story entirely. That supermarket is heaven in one small brick-and-tile building, and Atsumu swears by it; that supermarket has good samples, a color scheme that he’d both kill and die for, and frankly it’s done more for him than anything or anyone else in his whole entire life. That supermarket is clean and well-lit, organized like you wouldn’t fucking  _ believe,  _ and best of all he’s never run into anyone he knows there, not  _ ever _ , not even once even though he really should have since there were only so many grocery stores near his old high school, and most every student lived within walking distance. Regardless, he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (or look at any horses at all really, they’re creepy little fuckers), so he’s just accepted it for what it is. A slice of heaven that’s got anything that he could ever need right there within those four walls. 

There’s one very important thing about the Supermarket That’s Three Streets Away though, because life is cold and cruel and apparently intent on trying to throw a rock straight into the middle of his carefully-crafted glass house, and that’s that it closed down a week ago. Meaning that if Atsumu wants to get his muffins, he has to drag his sorry, bruised ass down to the Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away, meaning that he’ll have to brave hell itself, meaning that everything on earth is out to get  _ him _ specifically. 

The things he does for love, Atsumu thinks bitterly as he stumbles over to his dresser, stubbing his toe on its edge and swearing at length in a move that doesn’t make him look great on a literal level but is a quite satisfying conclusion to the first act of his ongoing panic opera. The  _ sacrifices  _ he makes, he continues as he throws on sweatpants and a shirt. Next is a fluorescent purple bandaid on the lump above his ear, and then socks and sneakers and his wallet shoved hastily in his pocket, and finally Atsumu gets himself up and out the door. The Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away is- as you might imagine- two streets away, so the walk doesn’t take too long and soon enough the building is looming over him like a blight or a very large bat. 

Honestly, Atsumu thinks as he walks through those horrible, horrible sliding glass doors. Can a man not have  _ one  _ decades-long and baseless rivalry with a perfectly normal building without the universe fucking him over? Is  _ nothing  _ sacred?

The supermarket has the gall to look completely average on its inside, though the whole green-beige thing that it’s got going on does not measure up to the fiery orange-red-yellow of the Supermarket That  _ Was _ (rest in peace you glorious bastard) Three Streets Away. He grabs a basket and tucks it into the crook of his arm, and then notices with slight horror that his shirt is on inside-out but hey. He’s pulling it off, he’s pulling it off, he’s  _ pulling it off.  _ The trick is to make it look like he did it on purpose, so Atsumu holds his head high and sweeps off into the aisles, making prolonged eye-contact with anyone who so much as glances in his direction. 

_Yes,_ his whole look says, from inside-out shirt to fluorescent purple bandaid to slightly too short sweatpants. _I am_ the _hottest bitch in this second-rate supermarket. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, for I woke up_ _like this. Take that. Die mad about it._

So anyways there he is, forging his way through the grocery store with all the borderline tangible energy of someone who is putting way too much effort into forging their way through a grocery store, strutting along the aisles as his sock slips slowly off his foot and the basket at his side repeatedly bumps into his leg. He does  _ not  _ knock over the pyramid of cans near the entrance- look at him go- and he manages to make it all the way to where the muffins ought to be without any major casualties. And then there they are, one singular pack of muffins tucked between off-brand banana bread and what looks to be a couple of scones, golden-brown and flecked with chocolate chips and ready to make his life a little less miserable. 

He reaches for them. And because nothing is easy and life is a nightmare, the person standing beside him that he did not notice and does not care about reaches for them too. 

Their hands touch, pinkies overlapping in a way that is _bizarrely_ intimate for a stranger at the grocery store (like whoa there buddy, at least take him to a decent supermarket first) and as Atsumu has the emotional constitution of a wet piece of paper and is about as adaptable as a brick wall on one of said brick wall’s bad days, he freezes. Like a deer in the headlights, muscles completely locked and brain whirring out a series of stutters and blanks, one half-formed thought discarded after another as his face spasms and what little self-control that he had takes one look at the mess that he’s gotten himself into and then flings itself off into the atmosphere, never to be seen again. He jerks his head to the side to see the person that thinks that they’re gonna get his muffins, gearing up for a fight if necessary, but then-

Oh  _ no.  _

Immediately Atsumu is forced to contend with the reality that he is not, in fact, the hottest bitch in this second-rate supermarket. Tragic. He’ll have to deal with the inelegant and rapid crumbling of his sense of self later because right now there’s a hot guy and these sorts of things take precedence because he’s not a fucking _animal._

The hot guy is shorter than Atsumu and has bright red-orange hair that’s cut close to his head and is just long enough to show the suggestion of some curl. He looks very put together for someone in the world’s shittiest supermarket at seven in the morning, wearing the sort of workout clothes that show off the sharp muscle definition in his arms and an easy smile like they aren’t two strangers still standing uncomfortably close in this grocery store aisle. He’s got nice hands too, square and warm with neat filed-off nails, calloused at the fingertips like Atsumu’s- if he had to hazard a guess, between those and the workout clothes and, he’d guess that hot guy’s some sort of athlete. He hopes it's volleyball. Please,  _ god _ , let it be volleyball. 

So there they are, not quite shoulder to shoulder but close nonetheless, and then Atsumu makes the mistake of looking right into hot guy’s honey-brown eyes and suddenly the panic opera makes its illustrious (and greatly anticipated) return, and it’s all angelic choruses backed by squeaking cart wheels and fluorescent lighting breaking through the clouds of dust that hang over the aisles like an omen- which _has_ to be some sort of health code violation- and right there and then Atsumu forms an immediate and ill-advised crush. This has happened before; this has never, ever gone badly. He’s never said anything wildly embarrassing and then had to cry on the couch for three straight hours to get over it. Everything is under control. 

Everything is under control.

“Oh, sorry about that!” hot guy says. His smile gets even wider and he drops his hand, rocks back on his heels. “Got sorta lost in my head, I guess. Didn’t see you there.”

“Uh,” says Atsumu, who is trying to figure out how to propose marriage on the spot while still being like, cool about it. Casual. 

“Did you need these?” he continues, apparently oblivious to the way that Atsumu is goggling at him like a fucking fish. “You can go ahead and take them! I wasn’t all that set on ‘em anyways- I can find something else. Yogurt, maybe. Some of that banana bread, but that looks kinda gross actually, so maybe the scones or something.” he trails off, contemplating, before shaking his head and making a small gesture to the grocery store at large. Atsumu is- and how embarrassing is this-  _ enamored _ . “I’ll figure it out! Here, just-”

He gestures again, this time at the muffins, looking a little lost and a little embarrassed and still very hot. Atsumu’s brain trips over itself for a second more before stumbling back into gear and he makes several short, jerky movements towards the shelf before freezing because he’s never once made anything easy in his whole entire life. 

_ Whatever you’re thinking, no,  _ the voice that lives in his head and does  _ not  _ sound like any old volleyball captains (it doesn’t) instructs him.  _ Say thank you. Take the muffins. Leave before you do something stupid. He’s being normal about it, so you should be normal about it. Say thank you. Take the muffins. Leave. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.  _

“You’re being very reasonable about this,” is what he ends up saying which could be much worse, he thinks. It  _ is  _ laced with more suspicion than he would like because Atsumu a) has a sibling and b) has never been reasonable about anything in his life because of it, but oh well. It is what it is, and what it is is salvageable. “Is this like one of those stories where some poor fucker goes and makes a deal but doesn’t read the fine print and then gets turned into a toad or some shit for his trouble? Are you tryin’ to steal my soul or something? Gonna package it up real nice and sell it for twice its retail value? Because I’m no expert but I think that that’s like, a third date kinda thing.”

Hah! Nailed it. That was a normal thing to say. He’s  _ so  _ fucking good at this.

Hot guy laughs, a bright sound that comes from his stomach and travels up through his shoulders, hand creeping to cover his mouth as those honey-brown eyes slide towards Atsumu. He tilts his head to the side a bit, hoping that the fluorescents are taking mercy on him, just this once; this  _ is _ the Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away though, and frankly he wouldn’t put it past it to purposefully make him look bad, especially since angles are a difficult to judge when the person you’re trying to impress is looking  _ up  _ at you. Regardless, hot guy gives him another smile- he seems like the type to hand them out by the bucket- and an indulging shrug. 

“You look like you’ve been having a bit of a bad day,” hot guy says, nodding towards the bandaid that Atsumu had blissfully forgotten about up until this very moment, when the reality of his situation hits him again with all the grace of a stampeding bull. “I kinda thought that you might- need them a bit more than I do?”

This is said apologetically and high-pitched, like he thought better of it halfway through but was too caught up in the momentum of the moment to stop. Atsumu remembers suddenly (and with a painful clarity) that his shirt is inside-out, and hot guy probably knows this because hot guy can probably see the tag and how on earth is he supposed to be all dashing and mysterious if hot guy can  _ see the tag _ ? Hot guy is giving him pity muffins! This is all this damned  _ supermarket’s  _ fault!

“Ah,” he replies weakly, all his earlier bravado having fled from his body and shot itself far, far away. Cleanup in aisle five, because he’s a fucking  _ mess _ . “Thanks. But. I wasn’t going for the muffins, actually. Yeah, I was going for-”

He looks at the shelf and grimaces, scanning the meager pickings and trying to find something that doesn’t make him look like an idiot with no taste when he is in fact an idiot with  _ fantastic  _ taste. “...the scones.”

Atsumu hates scones. They’re flaky little pockets of disappointment. But he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, and what he’s gotta do right now is save face. 

“So you can have them if you want. The muffins. Because I don’t like muffins. I’ve never liked muffins. I’ve never actually eaten a muffin. Hardly ever seen ‘em before, actually, and I mean like what the fuck man, right? Look at them, all… muffin-like.” 

He flaps a hand in the general direction of the muffins. It hits the shelf and jolt of pain shoots through him as his face twists, folding into something that is decidedly  _ not  _ attractive. He tries to play it off, tries to shake it out as a pervasive ache settles into his thumb and hot guy’s expression grows steadily more horrified until he looks about three seconds from whipping out his phone and dialing an ambulance. As being carted away by an EMT for a tiny bruise would put a bit of a damper on his flirting (not the worst that he’s had to deal with though, he could work with that he thinks), he tries to school his features back down into something cool, something that says something more than  _ ow ow ow fuck ow that hurt.  _

“Yeah, so you can. You can have them. The muffins,” he continues, voice pained but gaining strength and something approaching conviction throughout even as he lies his ass off and his thumb starts to spasm a bit. Yes, this is absolutely the right move, he thinks as he tries to nurse his injured hand without making it clear that he is trying to nurse his injured hand; who is he, if not someone governed by impulse? Besides, Atsumu would probably have given hot guy his wallet if he wanted it, and this is really a much less messy situation for everyone involved. No need to cancel his credit cards this time around, nope. 

Hot guy blinks at him in stilted but polite confusion but he gets over it soon enough, gives a literal shake of his head and lets the confusion melt into something softer, like bemusement or some shit like that. Atsumu’s not the best with expressions in the first place, and he can’t exactly pull out the test vocabulary when the majority of his brainpower is set on making sure that his hand doesn’t fall off so he doesn’t know what the vibe here is at  _ all _ . 

“Oh! Okay. Alright. Well if you’re sure then thank you...” hot guy trails off, head falling to his shoulder in an obvious question, and Atsumu feels somewhat like he’s about to explode. 

“Miya,” he says, still only half there, and then “ATSUMU,” once he’s snapped back into himself in full, because it would be  _ just  _ his luck for hot guy to somehow get him mixed up with Osamu and as much as Atsumu would love to live out his own romantic comedy (he’s got taste, after all) he needs a win today, and if that boils down to managing to say his own name correctly then so fucking be it. 

“Then thanks, Miya Atsumu,” hot guy says, smiling again. He reaches out and plucks the muffins from the shelf, deposits them into the basket at his side. “I appreciate it.”   
  


Atsumu stares at him, dazed, and the world is still so muffled from the inside of his shoujo-style romance bubble that it’s all he can do to choke out, “Name? Yours? Your name?”

Hot guy is a good few steps away by now, but he turns around to look at Atsumu, walking backwards now and giving him a two-finger salute and not stopping once. “Hinata Shouyou!” he calls. “I’ll see you around, then?”

“HOPE SO!” Atsumu yells back, much louder than necessary, but Hinata laughs again before spinning around and turning the corner out of sight, so he’s counting it a success. The minute that he’s sure Hinata isn’t about to pop back around the corner- which is to say that minute that he’s sure that he’s not able to embarrass himself in front of him anymore- Atsumu gives a fist pump and a wild whoop of glee. 

“Did you see that?” he asks the guy about his age who is walking past him and staunchly avoiding eye-contact. “Did we have a moment? Was that a moment? Did I look hot? Do you think that he thought that I look hot? I think that he thought that I looked hot. Oh, wait ‘til Osamu hears about  _ this,  _ he’s not gonna know what  _ hit  _ him, he’s gonna have to admit that I’m cooler now, ah  _ hell  _ yeah-”

He’s more talking to himself than anything, because the guy has long passed him by. Atsumu can’t bring himself to care though, because Atsumu knows how this sort of thing works- again, the romcoms, he watches so many  _ romcoms  _ so he’s like, an expert in love or whatever, not to brag- and at this rate it’s only several months, some witty banter, and one or two grand gestures before him and Hinata fall in love and live happily ever after. He thinks that they should get a couple of plants. Maybe a little cactus. 

He feels giddy as he throws the scones into his basket (it feels right; narratively cohesive or some shit like that) and then follows it up with the banana bread because he’s begun to feel bad for it and if he didn’t buy it than he would be plagued with guilt for the next week or so. He then stares at the other loaves of bread for a good five minutes because as much as he’d like to see Hinata again he hasn’t had time to figure out which conversation topics would make him look the coolest, so he’s gotta wait until he’s sure that he’s given him enough time to leave the store. That works just fine for him though, as he’s  _ also _ gotta start preparing some comebacks for his witty banter because honestly- and he will take this to the grave- he’s not all that confident in his ability to come up with something on the spot. 

So he waits for his five minutes and then he goes and pays, still feeling light as a feather as he wanders towards the exit with his bags in hand. Maybe the Supermarket That’s Two Streets Away isn’t so bad after all, Atsumu thinks as he makes his way to the door. Maybe it was trying to look out for him all this time and he only just realized it, and maybe it was on his side this whole entire time, and maybe him and Hinata can get married in the produce aisle which is by far the most romantically charged section of any grocery store. Maybe he was too quick to judge; maybe, just maybe he can finally put this rivalry to rest. 

So Atsumu’s Saturday starts like this: it is seven-thirty in the morning, he has just met the man of his dreams, and he is willing to make amends with just about anything that crosses his path  _ including  _ supermarkets that really have done nothing to deserve them. He feels light and happy, free as a bird, and the threshold is in sight, only five, four, three steps away. 

Atsumu has fallen in  _ love;  _ he's sure of it. 

And then right when he’s nearly out the door, the supermarket works its magic once more and Atsumu falls again:

Right into the pyramid of cans. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You know that one meme that’s like I saw a man so beautiful I started crying or something like that? Atsumu.
> 
> Anyways, please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed!!! I love hearing from you guys!!


End file.
